


Jolto Ficlet Collection

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Jolto, M/M, collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you know the drill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Would You Lie with Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don’t quite know how to say what I feel._

Feet pressed into the soft canopy of his cot’s flimsy wall, warm, stale beer in hand, John breathed deeply, chest tight like a sturdy rope was pulling him up from the core. His eyes were closed, since the view wasn’t particularly interesting when he opened them. It was just a stained cot ceiling, a sling of netting across the point holding a few of his personal items.

_We’ll do it all, everything, on our own, we don’t need anything or anyone._

It wasn’t the sight above that was interesting, however. It was what was next to him. That was worth opening his eyes for, and he did, lolling his head to the right, neck muscles protesting from the long day hunched in the barracks. 

His closest friend, Major James Sholto, mirrored his slack position beside him. His back lay flat against John’s bed, his bare feet also pressed into the wall in hopes of airing them out. He sipped his beer quietly, eyes focusing on an invisible spot above him, square jaw moving under tan skin when he swallowed.

“Tastes like piss,” he said quietly.

_Let’s waste time chasing cars around our heads._

They’d been like this for less than an hour, doing nothing in particular. James had sneaked some beer from the rec hall, which John would have been glad to get himself, but the Major’s soft eyes gleamed with mischief when he said it, and John had to comply. What he’d brought, instead of two, was a whole case, and he and John had been drinking since after dinner.

It was nice, just to lay there. Sometimes they talked in quiet tones, since everyone else on the base was (supposedly) asleep, but otherwise they just drank in silence. 

_If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

“It’s better than nothing,” John replied, turning back to the ceiling and taking a swig himself, the warm froth from the bottom of the bottle sending a little shiver down his sore spine.

_I don’t quite know how to say what I feel._

James hummed in response. He didn’t talk much, outside of shouting orders, and even on the occasion he and John got totally pissed together, he still had trouble going on long rants, and only just quipped in short, slurred phrases. John found it endearing and, truthfully, a bit cute.

But of course, most of the time, cute was unwelcome. Instead it was strength and honor and heroism, men dying for it, often on John’s table. But now, in the cot, with the warm night and mediocre beer making them light and comfortable, cute was just right.

John was about to say something else when James cut him off.

“Why’d you do it, John? Come here, I mean. Everyone’s got a reason. I don’t know yours.”

This caught him off guard. Nobody ever asked him that. Now, he found he didn’t know what to say. “I… Er, I actually don’t know. Part of it is because of the honor, I think. Helping people. And I like working with medicine. But the actual being here is… not what I expected. People always patted me on the back and said, ‘Good on you, Johnny! Protecting our country, patching up our boys, you’re a real hero.’ But when they said that, I hadn’t even gone yet, so’s like, why even say that? They never asked me why I wanted to go, so I guess I don’t have a real answer.”

_Forget what we’re told before we get too old. Show me a garden that’s bursting into life._

James downed the rest of his beer and leaned a strong arm back to set it on the ground with the other empty bottles. Then he folded his powerful hands calmly and looked over at John, sturdy chest rising and falling gently under his thin, white undershirt. “That’s a fine answer, John.”

“Mmm. Thanks.” He followed James’s lead and finished the froth in his bottle before turning back to James. He twirled the green glass neck in his fingers as his eyes caught something soft and reverent in his Major’s. 

James was a fine man, that was clear. He was strong and smart and handsome, with pretty blue eyes and good structure to his face. He was tall and regal and well put together, but here and now, lying face-up in John’s bed, feet up at an angle, he looked much more soft. More relatable. Breathtakingly handsome, definitely, but kind and available in his nature.

_All that I am, all that I ever was, was here in your perfect eyes, they’re all I can see._

Darting his eyes to James’s lips unconsciously before he asked, “What about you? You chase the honor?”

Feeling the weight of John’s eyes, James lingered inside his gaze for a bit before turning back and closing his eyes, searching for an answer. “This is what I’m meant to do, what I’m meant to be.”

It was silent then. John didn’t disagree. He was a perfect soldier and an even better Major. Trustworthy, direct, and soft-spoken to the new recruits who needed a bit of help. 

_I need your grace to read my needs, to find my own._

John shifted his sore shoulders and crossed his ankles, heels pressing against the cot. “It fits you. You’re good at it. Helpful and strong and heroic.”

“None of us are heroes yet, John.”

“I know.”

“But thank you.”

“’Course. Cheers.” John swiveled around with a grunt, set his empty bottle down, and brought two new ones back up, toes crunching to find grip against the wall. He handed one bottle to James, who smiled with such respect and tenderness, that John’s heart swelled and dampened out the loneliness lingering there.

_I don’t know where, confused about how as well, just know that these things will never change for us at all._

Their fingers brushed over the warm glass.

“Ta.”


	2. The Kind You Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s head on James’s chest, fingers carting through the blond hair there, he took his time in responding.

“Have you ever been in love?”

It was warm and soft and quiet in the dark cot. The base was asleep, mostly, and John and James had the night to themselves. They didn’t want to sleep, else they miss out on this otherworldly moment: a moment just for them that they’d have to smother when James sneaked back to his own tent before the sun rose.

John’s head on James’s chest, fingers carting through the blond hair there, he took his time in responding. Softly, he breathed as he said, “No.”

James pet his head and rolled his fingertips around the base of John’s neck to say  _I’m listening._

Tucking his leg tighter into the slot between his Major’s, John closed his eyes and spoke in time to the rise and fall of his chest. “There’ve been a lot of… chances. It just never happened. Maybe it could have, with the blokes I fell hard for, but it was never that big moment, where you know instantly. Nothing was a fantasy like that. Maybe it’s better that way.” John moved his touch from James’s chest and reached for his hand, pulling it and twining their fingers. “What about you?”

He kissed John’s head and breathed warm breath into his hair as he spoke, heavy and private like he’d never told anyone. “In school. I was fifteen, he was seventeen. He told me that I was his exception.” John’s thin blond hair fluffed with his sad laughter. “It shouldn’t count because it wasn’t real, at least not on his end, but I knew I loved him, all ten months that he used me. So I count it anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’fine. It doesn’t matter.”

The cicadas chirped as John mindlessly cuddled in closer, drying sweat making their naked skin sticky and warm. “I don’t know why it _should_ matter. There’s so many sodding… standards. Like, why can’t two people just figure it out without the stigma? People just get hurt when there’s expectations and the like. Maybe you feel more for one person in your life than another, but why’s it so important to compare them? And how do you know? They say it’s not like the movies, but then what’s it like? God, I’m awful. I sound like a teenager.”

“I like it when you go off,” James breathed out, arm coming around John’s waist and shoulders. 

It was silent as John shut himself up, like he’d said too much. 

James, the kind man that he was, let it ring out before he spoke instead, “But you’re right. Expecting to find it won’t make you find it, especially when you don’t know what it’s like. Some people say love is magical and life-threatening and powerful, and other people say it’s easy and just sort of happens with an old friend, humming in the background ‘til you figure it out.”

“Which was it for you?”

“The kind that left me heartbroken and naïve.”

John then found himself kissing a little circle around James’s strong pectoral, soft little presses of lips until he planted one in the center, on his nipple, and lay his head back with a sated smile. As he’d done it, James’s breath had stopped and he seemed to forget what he was about to say. John could feel his heartbeat on his cheek and squeezed his hand.

They wouldn’t sleep, but they’d let themselves come close, drifting away ‘til their limbs went numb and everything was fuzzy and slow. 

James’s fingers went slack in John’s and his arm slipped down his body from the settling sleep. John assumed this time, he actually had fallen asleep, so he padded the tips of his fingers on James’s palm and spoke incredibly quietly, just to himself. “What kind is this, then?”

John’s heart flipped when James responded, small and large all at once, “The kind you remember but never mention.”


	3. Across the Mess Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a simple, unimpressive scene, but John couldn’t take his eyes away.

A clatter of plates and silverware echoed through the mess hall underneath grumbling voices and tipsy laughter. The men sat at the long wooden tables, mysterious glops of edible brown mush piled high on their plates, warm beer beside them and cigarette packs curled into the sleeves of their shirts. 

John sat with his mates, a bit disconnected, pushing his fork into something green. The chatter and usual sound of collective men dulled into white noise, and John felt empty in his own bones. Then, a solid body jostled him into involvement as it slid next to him. “Hey, Johnny old boy!”

“I’m your captain, Stone, refer to me as such,” he ordered, sitting up a bit taller, forcing himself to care again. He didn’t mind, really. He liked it when the boys were friendly to him, it took the weight off his shoulders for a bit. But they were all pretending, especially here, and he couldn’t let his guard drop. Well, not around everyone.

The large man raised his hands defensively, beer bottle dangling from two fingers. “All right, fine. But we’re off-time, loosen up a little!”

John grumbled in response. He turned his attention back to his food. Stone settled in without another word and ate a few spoonfuls of beans and a few bites of corn before he shoved John with his elbow, bringing him out of his funk once again.

“Look, it’s that Major,” he mumbled.

Heart dropping to his stomach, John quickly looked up and searched for the man he’d been hoping to see. Across the hall, past the other tables filled with soldiers, he turned away from the food line. James carried a plate to his own table, sat between a few of the other high-ranking officers, and ran his fingers through his short, blond hair. 

Beautiful and toned in the yellow light of the mess hall, James glowed in his white undershirt and cargo pants, dog tags dangling down into the crevice of his clavicle. He rested his elbows on the table and turned his head, profile sharp and handsome with a square jaw and prominent nose. He raised an old piece of bread to his mouth and laughed along at something someone said as he took a bite. 

It was a simple, unimpressive scene, but John couldn’t take his eyes away.

Someone from the other side of the table spoke up and John darted his eyes away shamefully. “He’s tough,” he said.

Stone pointed his spoon at the speaker and then the Major, “He’s in over his head. He takes on too much, and it’s gonna bite him in the arse one day.”

John swallowed. “I think he’s all right.”

A few men chuckled then, heads dropping down and avoiding John’s eyes. The bloke on the other side of Stone mumbled into his beer, “Well, you would, wouldn’t you?”

Heat and panic boiled up in John’s veins, “Sorry?”

“Nothing, nevermind.” He laughed again, small and accusatory. 

Blood rushing through John’s ears, the captain tried to regain himself and eat in peace, but his skin tingled nervously, and his fingers had gone numb. He couldn’t let himself look at James, although he could feel, from across the hall, that James was looking at him.

After dinner, John washed up in the basin and walked quickly back to his cot, hoping that what the soldier had said at dinner was just a tease, that he didn’t actually know anything.

He pleaded to whatever gods there may be that the rest of his mates didn’t actually know about them, how James appeared in John’s cot later that night, pulled him tight to his strong chest, and snogged him blind.

They couldn’t know. 


End file.
